


I Know the Lord My Soul Won't Take

by Waynesgrayson



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark!Matt, First Kiss, Fluff, Gore, Implied Sexual Content, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, M/M, Sexual Tension, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 18:09:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4273026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waynesgrayson/pseuds/Waynesgrayson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh Foggy. You really need to keep yourself out of these situations.” The Devils says with a fondness usually reserved for a child. He's walking towards Foggy and unlike the way he moved after those men, he's taking his time. Walking as if he has all the time in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Know the Lord My Soul Won't Take

**Author's Note:**

> So I wanted to do a longer type fic like the one I did last month, and I finished my exams Friday and figured now that I have the time I may as well go for it. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> Title taken from: Barton Hollow by The Civil Wars

The first time he's rescued by the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, Foggy's kissed. It's short, sweet, and absolutely unexpected, and ever since then he's been thrown head first into the night life of Hell's Kitchen and straight into the Devil's arms.

Though the blame can't be rested on the Devil; at least not completely. Sure, having one of the most wanted vigilantes interested in him has given Foggy a bit of unwanted attention from unwanted eyes, but in the end it was Foggy's good intentions and his wanting to help that's got him in this mess in the first place. Foggy had opened his little practice in order to help those who can't help themselves. Whose voices yell and strain only to not be heard by those who should be listening. But as it turns out, these pleas for help run deeper than one would think after just one glance. Hidden under all of them were complicated under-linings that wove and connected, forming a picture far bigger than anything he could have imagined.

So really, Foggy being in these situations is fate - or something along those lines. Though Foggy tries to think of meeting the Devil as everything but the work of fate. Especially when the Devil kneels in front of his tied up form and rests him head on his knee after a fight, panting into the fabric of his pants, blood ruining yet another pair. He doesn't like to think abut how those moments could so easily be considered peaceful, and hates how the Devil makes him feel.

The last man stops making noise with a snap that echoes loudly throughout the room. It causes Foggy to flinch, but just barely. He doesn't like how desensitized he's become to the sound of snapping bone, but he thinks it's better than reacting every damn time. After all, being kidnapped this many times takes its toll, and you eventually have to stop screaming for everyone's life.

The room falls into silence, save for the Devil who's panting where he stands. Foggy watches the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the way his tongue glides over his lips, slow, removing the blood. Not for the first time Foggy thinks that the Devil must like the taste. The thought makes his stomach flip, uneasy. Foggy isn't sure who the blood belongs to, but he's willing to bet everything he has that it's not the Devil's.

It's never the Devil's.

Foggy diverts his eyes and chooses to look pointedly at his thighs and knees. There are creases and black stains on them. He wonders if they're salvageable.

Probably not.

The Devils moves then, slowly turning in his spot and Foggy watches him, waiting for him to say or do something. His quiet is unsettling. The Devil is very vocal in his dance with The Kitchen's creations and even more so when he's talking to Foggy. Whispering little something's and a lot of nothing to calm him down. Though the Devil may be on his side, it doesn’t make the moments after any easier or even pleasant. He can feel his skin crawl with heavy anticipation. Electric.

He's been kidnapped enough times that he's begun to wonder why they even try anymore. They come for Foggy and then the Devil comes for them. Sometimes, he thinks about how one day he'll just get a bullet in the back of the head instead of going through this whole process. That someday someone's going to be smart enough to not bother and it'll be lights out for Nelson. He hasn't decided if that's a good or bad thing yet. He still has some thinking to do.

But ever since that first night: tied-up, cold, and alone in a room full of men equipped with guns and cigarette stained smiles, the Devil has come for him every time and that thought shouldn't be as comforting as it's become.

When it had happened the first time, Foggy was shocked. He knew from the extensive newspaper and

television coverage that the Devil had a habit of showing up where the fun was and wreaking havoc, but he never thought he'd be that lucky. Though just as soon as the feeling of hope came it went away, leaving him with a heavy feeling in his gut.

Those weren't the only things said about the Devil. After all, he's called Devil for a reason.

Though ever since that first night, the Devil always comes for him. Foggy doesn't know how he finds him, though when it comes to the Devil, Foggy realizes there's a lot he doesn't know.

When the Devil had kissed him it was as if the moment was taken straight from those late night romantic comedies he sometimes watches. But unlike romantic comedies there was no music, or a feeling of great anticipation or even passion. So maybe not like a romantic comedy, but something straight out of a middle school journal.

First off, Foggy didn't respond.

Thinking back on it, he found himself wondering if it had really happened at all. But after going through it several times in his head Foggy came to the conclusion that it did, in fact, happen. He was kissed and he didn't respond.

 He chocked it all up to him being in shock. Still reeling from the fact that he of all people had been kidnapped and that it was now an experience he can say he's had. Not that it's something he'd brag about or bring up ever, but it's now a memory, an experience he has to live with. Also, being in the presence of the man who's single handedly flipped Hell's Kitchen on its head, wasn't helping in the slightest. But that didn't seem to matter to the Devil, because after he kissed him, all chaste and innocent like, the Devil smiled a soft smile and wished him a goodnight before disappearing.

It hasn't happened again.

He watches as the Devil turns around, his head cocked to the side as if he's listening for something, anything. Not that he'll find anything. It's dead silent after all.

“Oh Foggy. You really need to keep yourself out of these situations.” The Devils says with a fondness usually reserved for a child. He's walking towards Foggy and unlike the way he moved after those men, he's taking his time. Walking as if he has all the time in the world.

Foggy let's out a long sigh. He just wants to be untied and let go. He wants to go home and wash the blood sweat and dirt off his skin and pretend this never happened, so he can walk into the office tomorrow and smile at Karen and help their clients with a clear mind.

“It's not like I ask for this you know.” Foggy snaps, but the second the words are out he shuts his mouth with a click. He may run is mouth off to the thousands of goons The Kitchen has spawned, but he knows better than to make a bed with the Devil.

The Devil doesn't seem to mind, in fact, Foggy's outburst only makes his grin grow. If it's meant to be friendly, Foggy thinks he may need to work on it a bit. The blood is a bit off-putting.

“I know. You're just too good for your own good.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, that's me. Look, can you just untie me so I can go? The smell of gasoline is starting to burn my nose.”

The Devil tuts at him and Foggy wants to punch him in the face for being condescending. He doesn't say anything, only sighing in relief when the Devil starts untying him.

“What? No 'thank you's' or lavish praises of admiration? Foggy, I'm hurt.”

Foggy tilts his head to the side, his expression annoyed. “I'm pretty sure those lost their meaning after the fourth or fifth time, don't you think.” His wrists are free now and he rubs at them while his ankles are being worked on.

The Devils huffs out a laugh, throwing the rope aside. He rests an elbow on his thigh and tilts his head up as if looking at him. “Believe me, Foggy. I'd never get tired of hearing you praise me.”

“I thought the devil didn't seek approval.”

“Depends on the person.”

Foggy doesn't respond.

The Devil reaches out and places a hand on his cheek. Foggy doesn't like how the gentle action makes him flinch. Neither of them mention it though. The silence that follows is tense and Foggy tries his hardest not to push the man away, especially since he's certain there's blood on his gloves. He really doesn't want to know if there is blood on his gloves **.**

“Are you hurt?”

Foggy shrugs. “Nothing more than the usual stuff. My dignity on the other hand, may need some repairing. I need to stop spending my nights being dragged into warehouses by big sweaty men.”

The Devil is now running his fingers up and down his cheek and Foggy is now very certain of the blood. He tries not to think about it too much.

“I don't like that they hurt you.” The Devil says, his voice barely a whisper and Foggy can't lie, he's kind of touched. In a vaguely creepy yet somehow heartwarming way.

“Well that makes two of us.”

The Devil hums and his fingers on Foggy's face continue their exploration; gliding over the apples of his cheeks, down the slope of his nose, and around the curve of his jaw. When they settle over his lips and gently thumb down his lower lip Foggy can't take it anymore. “What are you doing?”

“Seeing you.”

“You do know you have eyes, right? I get that covering them adds flair or whatever, but this is unnecessary.”

“You're beautiful.” The Devil breathes as if Foggy hadn't said anything. The words make Foggy want to squirm in his chair, his jaw tightening.

After another moment Foggy breaks. It's one things for the man to fondle him enough to help him out of his bonds and out of his chair – to see if he's okay, but it's another thing entirely to just grope someones face for what feels like forever. So he stands abruptly, and not surprising to him, the Devil moves with him.

“I should go. You know, home, where it's safe. Where this Foggy should be. Like right now.”

“Let me walk you home.” It sounds like an offer, but Foggy knows he's really being told he'll be having company whether he wants it or not.

But he still says, “No thanks. I can – I can do this by myself.”

“Are you sure? It's no trouble.”

“Calm down, Romeo. I think I can manage the walk home.”

That gets him a smile. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

The Devil lowers his head and nods. Foggy thinks he looks sad, but doesn't dwell on it.

He walks home fast and with his head down, eyes darting back and forth until his door is locked and chained. He pretends he never noticed the shadow following him, and wills his heart to slow down.

\--

He slowly bangs those sticks against the metal wall. The sounds of its vibrations echo throughout the room and sends a chill down Foggy's spine. Foggy can't contain the shudder that racks his entire body.

“Come out come out wherever you are.” The tune is sang high and with such glee that Foggy is glad it's not directed towards him.

Foggy watches him move through his bangs. The Devil is walking around the warehouse slowly, his steps heavy. He's already taken out most of the goons, but there is one still here. At least Foggy thinks there is. He hasn't seen anyone since the Devil finished taking out the others, but he's just going to assume that the Devil is right and that there is still another man lurking about. The anticipation of the wait sits heavy in Foggy's stomach, twisting and turning it to the point Foggy thinks he may actually be sick. Foggy also can't will his heart to slow down for nothing, the beating loud and unbearable in his head, making it harder to keep it together. He doesn't know which is worse, knowing the fate of the other man once he's been found, or seeing the Devil covered with so much blood yet smiling like a kid on Christmas day.

“Found you.” The words are said with a smile, contradicting how menacing they are, yet doing nothing to down play the meaning.

The man screams and shoots his gun until it clicks.

The Devil swallows him whole.

Foggy tries to block it out.

“Hello, beautiful.” The words are whispered against his mouth and simultaneously his eyes fly open in surprise, his heart jolts into his throat, and he takes in a deep breath of air through his nose. The Devil is barely a hairsbreadth away and Foggy's eyes are transfixed on where he assumes the Devil's eyes are. He swallows thickly. He can't bring himself to look down. He knows there will be blood and if he sees anymore blood any hope of getting out of here without losing his sanity will go out the window.

“Hi.” It's weak, but it's all he can manage.

The Devil leans forward and slots their noses together like they would if there were kissing, and starts nosing. His nose rubbing against his and up to his forehead, down his temple, to his ears. His jaw. Foggy thinks the man is two seconds away from purring and climbing into his lap.

He can't help himself. “You're like a cat.”

“Don't cats bite?”

“No they absolutely do not!”

The Devil huffs, the air hot against his neck. “Awww, you're no fun, Foggy.”

“Well someone has to be the dull boy. Balance is important.”

“Mhm.” The Devil hums. “Balance.”

This continues on, and Foggy doesn't want to admit that it's oddly comforting.

“Are you going to untie me?”

“You'll leave if I do.”

And oh no. Oh no no no no no. _' This is where I die'_ he thinks as his heart begins slamming against his rib cage and the swirling in his stomach picks up again. ' _This is the part where he takes all of his kindness and weird friendship and uses it to castrate me and then wave my dick around on a stick '_

He feels all of his panic shoot up into his brain, clouding it, igniting his veins faster than before. He knew the man was insane and dangerous, but he never thought...

_...he never thought..._

“Shh no, Foggy, I'm not going to hurt you.” The Devil is stroking his face, shushing him after every couple of words.

“Th- then...why won't you...let me go?” Foggy eventually gets out, panic gripping his heart like a vice.

The Devil whines when a tear slips down his cheek, and catches it on his finger. Foggy figures the action is meant to be comforting, he just wishes the Devil hadn't licked it off his glove. “I just want to be with you a little bit longer.” he whispers as if a child being scolded.

Foggy nods shakily, trying his best to ignore the tears that wet his cheek from the movement. “You can untie me. I'll stay with you.”

“You will?”

Foggy nods again.

“You want to?”

Oh he wants too. He shouldn't want to, especially since the man just pulled this bullshit. But he does. He wants to sit with him and talk, or just sit in silence. He wants to so bad the feeling is turning his stomach, making it hard to tell if he's going to be sick from fright or from anticipation.

He wants to so fucking bad and it's scaring him.

“Yeah.” he whispers. “I want to.”

\--

The night air is cool against his skin. He shivers, and the body next to him tries to move closer and somehow does despite the already impossible closeness of their bodies. He had lost his jacket at some point in the night, and Foggy can admit, he's freezing cold.

The Devil had pointed that out earlier, and said he would offer something if he had something to offer, and sat himself directly next to him so that their sides were touching. The fact that an arm is also around his waist means nothing. But he's not as cold, so he figures it's not all bad.

It's really not.

\--

“Wow, someone looks like shit.” Karen punctuates the last word, making it louder than the rest of her sentence.

Foggy huffs out a laugh as he closes the door behind him.“And good morning to you too, my wonderful assistant at law.”

“Don't try and make me feel bad.” Karen laughs with a playful grin.

“You should feel bad.”

“Well I don't, because you do look like shit. What happened?” she asks, sitting down in the chair that's in front of his desk.

“Oh, you know.” he says as nonchalantly as he can while he puts his things down. He doesn't want to lie to Karen, especially since she's his best friends. But he isn't about to spill to her about his night-time hangouts with a known wanted and dangerous vigilante, who may or may not be very interested in Foggy, who in return, may or may not be interested in said vigilante.

So he settles. “Wrong place, wrong time.”

Karen's eyes bug out of her head, jaw drops, and she stands up. She slowly walks around his desk until she's in front of him. She's now looking at him with an intense worry and Foggy tries not to squirm under the inspection. He meets her gaze head on, willing himself to give off the vibe of being okay. Her fingers twitch at her side, as if she's trying to figure out what to do with them. She raises her hands,

and stretches out her fingers, tenting them together before resting them against her lips.

She inhales deeply. “Were you mugged?” she asks quietly, as if she didn't want to ask in the first place.

When he nods she inhales sharply, turning her hands to cover her mouth. She closes her eyes.

“Are you okay? Wait, why didn't you call me after it happened?!”

He ignores that last question. “For the most part, yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit roughed up, a little shaken, but fine.”

She nods slowly, absorbing the information. “Okay, okay, you're okay.”

“Yes, I am. So no worrying.”

Her eyes open, settling on him with an unbelieving look. “No worrying? Foggy! You were mugged!”

He nods. “ _Mugged_. As in past tense.”

She glares at him. “Just because it's happened already doesn't mean it's not still effecting you.”

“Karen,” Foggy sighs, “I'm fine.”

She purses her lips and places her hands on her hips. She's ready to argue. Her eyebrows wrinkling together as she frowns, her nostrils flaring. “ _Foggy_ -”

“No, Karen, please. I'm o-kay.”

He's not okay, and he knows she knows that, but this is a conversation he's not ready to have; not ready to be truthful about. So, he gives her a pleading look and relaxes when she deflates.

Though she's not done yet, because she completes the distance between them and pulls him into a tight bone-crushing hug.

“Just be careful, okay?”

\--

Foggy feels them before he sees them, which is rather unfortunate considering they're closer than he would like and he's still a couple of blocks away from his apartment.

He picks up his pace though, and bundles his jacket closer to himself as if he could somehow become invisible. He probably shouldn't have picked up his pace, because one of them shouts and the sounds of them running from behind echoes in his ears. He could run, but past experiences have proved that that tends to make things worse for him and he'd rather make this as nonviolent as possible.

He mentally prepares himself, tensing up for the expected blow to the back of the head, but it never comes. His eyes open and he feels relief flood through him when he hears that laugh. His laugh.

Foggy turns around and sees the Devil hard at work, dodging blows and delivering them with his high pitched laugh and matching grin.

The men shout and the Devil smiles. Always smiling.

None of them stand a chance.

And then it's just them in the cool night air. Foggy shivers.

“You're early.” is all he can manage to say.

The Devil smiles and ducks his head, biting on his lower lip. “I thought we could skip a few steps tonight. I figured you would appreciate that.”

Foggy nods as he says,“Well, you figured right.”

The Devil is looking at him. Well, Foggy is assuming he is since the cloth over his eyes makes it hard to actually see and know where he's looking. But he can feel the heavy weight of his gaze despite that. Foggy wonders what he's thinking about, but isn't sure he wants to know bad enough to ask.

“How was your day?”

Foggy raises his eyebrows in surprise. “What.”

When the Devils ducks his head, Foggy thinks he may actually be a bit embarrassed about this. “How was your day, Foggy?”

_Huh_

_Well_

_Okay_

Foggy shrugs. “It was all right. I mean – I wasn't kidnapped and taken to a smelly warehouse with poor lightening and questionable decor. So all-in-all I'd say it was an okay day.”

“That's good, I'm glad.” Foggy doesn't like the way he says that. Not because he sounds menacing or creepy, or vaguely sinister - because he doesn't. It's because of how genuine he sounds. Like he means it fully and properly and the way he practically breathes out his words does things to Foggy's heart that he'd rather not think about.

“What about you. How was your day?” Foggy's asks more out of courtesy than an actual wanting to know.

The Devil smiles, lighting up like a kid who's just received a new toy. “It was good. Work was fine and you're safe, so...” the Devil nods, signalling the end of his sentence a bit awkwardly. Foggy can't help but find it endearing, seeing the Devil act shy when he's usually so upfront with their conversations.

“Wait, you have a day job?”

“That surprising?”

Foggy decides that it's not, not really. After all fighting crime doesn't really pay the bills. He knows this first hand. Though thinking about the Devil working a nine to five job is pretty amusing. Does he have to wear a suit? Does he work in a cubicle with a neighbour named Greg and do he and Greg get coffee together and talk about how well the stocks are doing?

He shakes his head, a smile forming on his lips. “No, actually.”

He gives a silent gasp when the Devils suddenly stocks over, leaving only the smallest amount of space between them. Foggy then watches with a shocked fascination as the Devil takes his gloves off. The action is dragged out, the Devil plucking one finger at a time until all five are free before he slips the fabric off, dropping both to the ground. He raises his hands up between them and holds them there for a moment. The skin looks rough and calloused, but they're beautiful regardless. The nails are trimmed as low as they can be and the skin on his knuckles is pink and broken. Foggy blinks at them before blinking up at the Devil.

The Devil touches him with all the care in the world, and Foggy wonders why he ever expects anything else. His hands cup his cheeks before slowly moving about the rest of his face, and when the Devil finally gets to his lips he leans forward, causing their noses to bump.

“Smile again,” the Devil says in a whisper, “ _Please_.”

Foggy does. He can't help himself. He also can't stop the fluttering of his eyelashes as he takes a deep breath in, steadying himself as his heart jumps in his chest. The emotions of this moment are almost too much to take. The Devil traces the lines around his mouth and the shape of his lips, and when he outlines the curve of his smile with his finger tips the Devil smiles with a huff, and he smiles such a fragile smile that Foggy feels as if the air has left his body. He's never seen him smile like that before, and just the thought of him being the one to receive it makes his heart and mind ache.

Foggy reaches up and as softly as he can places his finger tips on the curve of the Devil's jaw. The Devil's smile slips of his face, and Foggy tires to figure out what he's feeling, but he's not giving very much away.

So Foggy mimics what he does, and begins touching any skin he can. He doesn’t have a lot to explore considering the Devil covers up pretty much everything, but he makes it work, moving slowly across the mans cheekbones and nose.

Foggy hesitates before he touches the mans lips, but when he does it's as if something inside settles.

Or breaks.

Foggy can't really tell at the moment.

“You're beautiful.” Foggy whispers.

“You...you can't see me.” The Devil says and he sounds completely wreaked that it worries Foggy for a split second.

“Doesn't matter.”

The Devil removes his hands from Foggy's face and takes Foggy's own hands in his. He places a kiss on each before lowering them to their sides. Then he leans forward and touches their foreheads together and they stand quiet. The only other sounds are that of passing traffic and the distant chatter of Hell's Kitchen.

\--

“Does it ever get hot under there?” It's an odd question, Foggy knows this, but it's something he's been wondering about the past seven months. He understands that the fabric is thin considering all it takes for it to rip is to be stretched a little too far, but he figures that all the running around and beating up thugs in alleyways makes the thinness a moot point.

It's also a stupid question, but it makes the Devil laugh, so Foggy figures it's worth it.

“Sometimes, yes.”

“Sometimes? Only sometimes? I'm pretty sure it's like a second skin now.” He plucks at the fabric to prove his point, and it does when it doesn’t move much from the mans side. “See? Case in point. You, my friend, need better fighting clothes and soon. Something more durable and fight-y.” He says, punching the air.

The Devil let's out a hearty laugh, one that comes deep from his belly and causes him to throw his head back.“Are you asking me to take my clothes off, Foggy?”

“No, I'm a gentlemen. I'm just saying the black spandex you're wearing isn't going to cut it forever.”

“I'm _not_ wearing spandex!” The Devil laughs.

“Could have fooled me.”

“Whatever.”

They fall into silence. Foggy picks at a loose thread on his pants and the Devil keeps his gaze on the city, slowly moving his head as if taking in every detail the city has to offer. Foggy think it's a waste of time. Obviously not for crime-fighting reasons, but for everyday reasons. For all of the good woven throughout its streets, Hell's Kitchen is an ugly place. No one should look at it too hard if they want to keep their sanity. Maybe that's why the Devil is two hits away from the psych-ward.

“I would though.”

“Would what?”

The Devil turns his head and smirks, “Take my clothes off for you.”

Foggy feels the heat of blush creeping up. He places his hands in front of his chest, palms out. “Whoa, buddy. Buy a guy a drink first.”

“Would you say yes if I asked?”

Foggy thinks _yes_ , yes he would. He would very much say yes to the terrifying and wildly insufferable, yet somehow wonderful masked vigilante he's gotten to know. Though he has a feeling going out with a dude in a mask would make things awkward. The man has a very pretty mouth, but sadly Foggy can't survive with just that alone.

Okay, who is he kidding. The man has a mouth made of sin and has ass for days and Foggy would happily marry both if given the chance. But he also wants to know the guy. Wants to talk to him until the sun rises, and laugh until they can't move.

 _'We have that now,'_ Foggy thinks. Their talks have become less of a vague flirting/rescue scene straight from the romance novels, to genuine talks that seem to go on forever. Which is a very good thing because the Devil is actually funny when he isn't trying to live up the name he's been given. He's also kind and understanding and has found a way to get under Foggy's skin in the best possible way.

So yes, he would go and get drinks with the man if he was asked. Because Foggy honestly wants to spend time with him. Especially if the situation is as far away from hurting and fighting as it can be.

But Foggy knows that the problem, when it comes down to it, is that he wants to be able to see him.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe, huh?” and the Devil grins a cat-like grin, and Foggy thinks he may be in trouble.

If he isn't already.

\--

“Foggy,” Karen hisses as they make their way out of the semi-crowded coffee house. She gives a few apologizes as they weave through the line of people to the exit, but continues her less than quiet talking once they're out. “That barista was totally flirting with you!”

Foggy raises his eye brows in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes!” she's grinning at him now, her eyes wide with excitement. She loops her arm through his and leans on him as they make their way to the office. “And you didn't reciprocate.”

“Sorry, I didn't notice.”

“Didn't notice? Um, it was very obvious. So obvious in fact,” she reached over and turned his cup. Written on the side was a name and number in black marker, “they left you this little _something_.” She waggled her eyebrows as she finished her sentence, getting a laugh from Foggy.

“So you gonna call? Hook-up? Hook _me_ up with some free coffee?”

Foggy laughs again, but he didn't give it much thought. Sure, he sort of wishes he had noticed he was being flirted with, but he really didn't care.

“No, probably not.”

Karen frowns.“But they seem nice. You're not even gonna give them a chance?”

Foggy shrugs. “Not really lookin' for someone at the moment.”

Karen nods her understanding and she's quiet until they're at the office, putting their things away and getting ready for the day.

“Why not though.”

“Why not what?”

“Foggy,” she chides, “you know what I'm talking about.” She sighs when Foggy doesn’t answer. “Why won't you go out with anyone? It's all work work work and no play play play. You gotta get out every once in-a-while. It's not healthy to just go from work to home everyday.”

“What are you talking about? We go out and do stuff all the time.”

“Yeah, but it's not the same.”

Foggy sighs and rubs his face. “Karen...”

She understands that she's reaching 'I don't want to talk about this' territory and puts her hands in front of her as if trying to assure that she's not trying to push.

“I'm just worried, you know. I want you to be happy, Foggy.”

\--

“It's been so quiet. I haven't seen you in a while.”

“It's only been a couple weeks.”

“I missed you.”

“Yeah, I missed you too.”

\--

_He knows something's off the second his door shuts behind him._

“You were in my apartment.”

_He also knows that he should probably turn around and run for help before he's stuck playing some weird puppets game, but Foggy obviously has some sort of death wish, because he doesn't do that._

“I was.”

_Instead, he does the exact opposite and continues walking into his apartment._

“Why?”

_The living room window is open and the curtains are softly floating in and out with the breeze, and on his coffee table, next to the remote and morning comics is something that should not be there._

“I don't know.”

Disappointment floods his chest though he doesn't say anything about it. He does, however, pull out the black mask that was left on his coffee table. He holds it in his hands for a moment, stroking the fabric with his thumbs.

“You forgot this.”

There's a short pause. “No, I didn't.”

Foggy frowns, eyebrows creasing together. “I don't understand.”

“I didn't forget it. I left it there. For you.”

"Why?”

The Devil leaves without giving him an answer, or anything really, and Foggy thinks he might hate him.

He doesn't hate him.

\--

They don't talk about it, because talking about the elephant in the room would be an adult thing to do and it's obvious the title of adult does not apply to either of them.

They still talk, they still meet up. Sometimes it's because Foggy's managed to take on another case that has deeper ties than he had realized. Sometimes, the Devil will appear seemingly out of nowhere and accompany Foggy on his walk home, like he is today.

“What should I call you?”

“What do you mean.”

“Like a name. A name-name. Something tells me that 'Devil' isn't your real name. I need to call you something.”

“What if it is?”

“Your real name?” Foggy scoffs. “Well then, shit. You kind of drew the short-stick with names then, didn't you.”

The Devils smiles and nods, but then he's frowning and even though Foggy can't see his whole face, he knows that he's concentrating hard on something, something he doesn't really like.

“I don't like the name.”

“What, your real name?”

“No. Devil.”

Foggy nods. He get's that. Sure, it's a good name to strike fear into the hearts of your enemies with, but it's probably not the best name to have when trying to save innocent people. “Then give me something else. Tell me your name and there will be one less person calling you Devil.”

“Aren't identities suppose to be secret?”

“I'm not asking for full names here, Mister. I'm just saying. You don't have to though, if you don't want.”

The Devil inhales deeply and let's it out in a long sigh. “It's Matt.”

Foggy raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Matt?”

He nods.

"You look like a Matt.”

“Really?”

“Well, from that I can see of you, you do.”

Matt tilts his head, mouth curved in a smirk. “Bossy, Mr. Nelson. Wanting name and face all in one night. Does nothing satisfy you?”

“Shut up.” Foggy pushes Matts shoulder lightly, eliciting a small laugh from the man.“I didn't mean for it to sound passive.”

 

“I know, Foggy. I know.”

\--

Foggy wishes he could have gone through life without knowing what blood spraying across his face felt like, but sadly things don't always go how we want them to. Foggy also thought he'd never witness a scene straight out of an old time gangster flick, but Goon A shooting Goon B in between the eyes after a heated argument, gave him that opportunity. Goon B's blood his hot on his skin and he shudders violently as it trickles down his face and into the fabric of his dress shirt.

He wonders if there's anyway to get help getting these stains out without raising suspicion or looking like a complete nut, because the amount of clothing he's had to throw away is becoming ridiculous.

He feels helpless when the blood on his lips runs and tries to get inside his mouth. This night has already been so different from any other and the fear Foggy is feeling is nothing like before. It's no longer red-hot in his chest, it doesn't ignite his veins and make them sing. Instead, he's cold.

So cold.

He passes out.

\--

“ –Foggy...FOGGY!”

The yelling of his name breaks through the haze of his mind. He opens his eyes only to close them again. That only gets him more yelling so he tries his best to open them again and keep them open.

When he can focus he sees Matt leaning over him, his mouth wobbling in a way that would suggest he's either crying or is very upset.

“– please, please look at me, you're okay, please –”

Matt is touching his face, his grip is tighter than he probably means though Foggy is grateful for it. He tries to focus on that, the feel of leather gloves against his skin, but he can also feel the warmth of fresh blood smudging against his skin and he hates it. He hates it so much.

“Matt?” He flinches as the pain in his head flares up.

“Yes! Yes, it's Matt. Please look at me, Foggy. Please.”

“What happened?”

“They took you, but I have you now, it's okay, they're gone. It's okay.” Matt repeats these words like a mantra, occasionally shushing Foggy when he tries to speak. Matt's arms are tight around his body and after realizing Matt's not going to let him go any time soon, he finally gives in.

He allows himself to fully feel safe in the arms of the Devil.

\--

He doesn't see much of Matt after that. Though he also doesn't seen any of the cities cronies or the inside of shady dark vans anymore, so he figures that's why.

It's been almost two months and Foggy doesn't want to say he's pining, but he's pining. Karen has pointed it out several times already, and when Foggy finally cracked and told her he was feeling like this because of a man, she hit him with a rolled up newspaper, scolded him for not telling her, and then took him out to get hammered.

“And he has like this – this stupid mouth like...just stupid.” he says with a shake of his head.

Karen nods and lifts up her glass as if every word he just said made perfect sense and he was preaching some powerful stuff. She downs the shot and slams the glass down before reaching out and covering his hand with hers. She pats it a few times before lacing their fingers together.

“Men,” she says in a dead-serious voice with a dead-serious face, “are stupid, Foggy.”

“But I'm a man.” he says as if this wasn't common knowledge before, “Does that mean I'm stupid?”

Karen frowns, the expression exaggerated, and she nods slowly as if Foggy was indeed stupid for not knowing.“Yes. Yes, you are. But you know what?”

She pauses, looking at him with an expectant look.

“What?” he asks, and it's clear that was what she was waiting for.

“You're still an all right man.”

In that moment, it was the nicest things he's ever been told.

\--

“I think the coffee maker is broken.” Karen says, wrinkling her nose as she fiddles with the switches and parts of the offending machine.

“Then I quit.” Foggy says from his desk and Karen scoffs.

“No you don't.”

“The coffee maker was the only thing keeping me here and now that it's gone, I see no point.”

“The point,” Karen stresses, “is helping people who can't get it from the people they should. Plus I'd still be here. You wouldn't stay for me?” her voice rising into a sweet yet challenging tone.

Foggy laughs. They both know that question doesn't need answering. Coffee maker or no coffee maker Foggy would be here everyday until he couldn't be. They've been pulling all-nighters the past couple of weeks which has taken its tole on both of them, but both refuse to stop. Karen has deep dark circles under her eyes and has since stopped trying to cover them up, and Foggy is fairly certain he hasn't showered since the week started.

Now he wishes he thought like Karen, and brought changes of clothes.

“Of course I would.”

Karen walks out of the little kitchen and leans against the door frame. “We should call it a night.”

“I'm good.”

“No you're not. Neither of us are.” she walks over and sits in the chair in front of his desk. “We can't keep doing this. I know that this case is important, but we can't help Mrs. Julian properly if we're not taking care of ourselves.”

She's right. Karen is pretty much always right and sometimes Foggy wishes she wasn't. He knows that they can't keep doing this; that he can't keep doing this to himself. But he doesn't want to go outside. It's as simple as that. It's as sad as that and Foggy hates how much he's let Matt's absence affect him.

He figured throwing himself as far into his work as he has would be better than not showing up at all. Because his clients deserve better, Karen deserves better, and so does he. He doesn't deserve the torture that shutting down and giving up would bring, all because of another person. But in a way, he's done just that. He may show up to work everyday and give all he has to these people, but he's shut down. He functions, he and Karen go out on Friday nights, he fights in court until his words are drowning his opponent, but he's not always all there.

Karen thinks he's suffering from a broken heart, and he is. When she took him out to get drunk and vent out his frustrations, before she was just as intoxicated as he was, she told him something:

“Only share your heart and your happiness. Don't give them away, Foggy. Because after it's over, you have to mend both yourself, and if you don't have either, then what do you do? What do you have?”

It was after she said this that he realized how much he did give Matt. Little by little, laugh by laugh, talk by talk, he was slowly giving himself to a masked man. And he didn't care, because part of him wanted it to happen.

Now nothing's happened.

“Okay.”

\--

When a figure drops down beside him as he's locking up the doors to the practice, Foggy let's out a small squeak of fright in the back of his throat.

“Sorry,” huffs Matt, sounding everything but, “didn't mean to scare you.”

Foggy continues locking up without saying a word, and after testing the door to make sure it's locked, he walks away. Matt doesn't say anything but he does follow Foggy, slipping back into the shadows and walking without a sound.

They make it halfway to Foggy's apartment until Matt says something.

“I'm sorry.”

For three months all Foggy's been wanting is Matt, an apology, and an explanation. But hearing those words now - they're not enough. They're not okay. Foggy doesn't want to hear them anymore.

“I don't care.”

“Yes you do.”

Foggy doesn't say anything. He picks up his pace.

“You always care, Foggy, even when you don't want to. You care about me just like I care about you. You know that it's you and me -”

“Stop it!” Foggy yells, stopping in his tracks and turning to face Matt. “You don't get to disappear for all this time and then come back and torment me by telling me how I feel. I know how I feel. You don't have the right to tell me that. What is wrong with you!?” Foggy doesn't wait for answer, he turns around and continues walking.

Then Matt is behind him as close as he can be, seemingly uncaring about been seen by others out this late. “Foggy please don't walk away from me.”

“Why not? You did just that and you don't seem to have a problem with it.”

“What, oh course I do! I've wanted to see you every single day since the last time we talked. I've missed you so much that I am aching for you.”

“Stop it. Don't say things like that to me unless you mean them fully.”

Foggy let's out a gasp when he's grabbed from behind and dragged backwards. Then his back is against a wall, and he sees that they're in the middle of an alley. The only light is from the street, and it's barely touching them. The brick is cool against his back, but Matt is hot against his chest. The man is leaning over Foggy, a hand against the wall just above Foggy's head, steadying himself. He leans down close, touching their noses together before he speaks.

“Words cannot describe how you make me feel, Foggy. You make me feel clean and pure and as if everything that I am doesn't matter. That the blood on my hands can come off and that I can touch you and know what it's like to hold something sacred. Since that first day, I knew it was going to be you. I'm the type of man to deny myself of every pleasure, but I won't - I can't deny myself you.”

\--

“What were you doing? Those months I didn't see you?”

“It doesn't matter.”

“What, yes it does.”

“Foggy, it's over now, don't worry about it.”

“I can't. Tell me what happened.”

“...”

“Matt, please.”

“That night after you were taken, after I found you unconscious...I was so scared I was going to lose you. I went out and did some reckless stuff. I was hurt badly.”

“What did you do?”

“Foggy, please. No more questions.”

“Matt -”

“Please, Foggy.”

\--

Foggy watches in absolute horror as Matt bites into the neck of a man and rips out a large chunk of flesh, spiting to the ground as the man crumples.

“Oh my god.” he says, and it's strained and doesn’t sound like it came from him at all. He feels dirty and wrong and his head is starting to feel airy. He thinks he might just pass out.

Foggy guesses he shouldn't be surprised, Matt's whole demeanour had been off since the moment he stepped into the fight. He wasn't laughing or taunting the men, just simply picking them off one by one until he was the only one left standing. Foggy wonders briefly what that means for him.

“Hello, beautiful.” Matt says with a voice that would normally cause Foggy's everything to give him his undivided attention, but all Foggy can focus on is the blood in and around his mouth and the way it drips down his chin and has coloured his teeth.

Foggy let's out an involuntary noise of unease in the back of his throat. “You got a little, uh...all over your face.”

Matt wipes his face with the back of his hands, but not before running his tongue over his lips and the dip of his cupids bow. Foggy feels his face screw up in disgust, his head reeling from what he just witnessed.

Matt stalks over and unties Foggy quickly, but before Foggy can get up, he finds himself with a lap full of Matt. A Matt who is now rubbing and moving in ways that leave absolutely no room for doubting his intentions. That, and the fact that Foggy can feel his obvious interest pressed against his own.

Though Foggy would probably be more interested if he wasn't so distracted by the blood. “Is this your way of telling me that you get off on this?”

“I never - not before, but then I met you and you watching me...” Matt trails off, he continues to rub himself against Foggy making little noises in the back of his throat. Unlike before when Matt's actions reminded him of a cat, he's now reminded of someone just touches away from a climax.

“You get off on me watching you kill people?” Well if that didn't strike a very deep and unknowing chord with Foggy, he wasn't sure what could.

“It sounds so vulgar when you say it like that,” Matt pants, “but yes.”

And Foggy can admit, the throat thing wasn't hot, but this is very insanely hot and Foggy has no idea how he hasn't melted from just the sounds Matt's making alone.

“Do you need me to?” Foggy asks as he brushes his fingers against the front of Matt's pants. Matt lets out a small whine and slowly thrusts into his palm before pushing back a bit.

“Oh god, I want you to. But I don't want the first time to be with the mask.”

“Then take it off.”

“So tempting, always so fucking tempting. But not now.”

“Then when?”

“When we're in a more subtitle environment. Maybe even one with a bed.”

“Fine. My place or yours?”

Matt let's out a breathy laugh and stills his movements. Foggy sees that he's shaking a bit, and he finds himself wanting to know just exactly how close Matt is to his orgasm and if he can somehow bring Matt to his end. But when he moves his hand Matt stops him.

“Foggy, please.” 

Foggy doesn’t have to be told twice. “Okay. I won't.”

“Thank you. But there is something I want to do tonight. Something important.”

Foggy raises an eyebrow. “Oh?” he says with a smirk.

“Not like that you perv.” Matt smiles, but then it's gone and he sets his lips in a firm line.

Time seems to still around them as Foggy watches shocked as Matt slowly reaches up, his fingers hooking underneath the fabric of the mask. Foggy thinks his heart just might beat out of his chest as Matt slowly lifts the mask up and away from his face, dropping the thing to the ground.

 _'Oh my god'_ , is the first thing that come to mind, and then _'shit he's gorgeous'_ , and then ' _shit he's younger than I assumed'_. But what's really holding his attention, is Matts eyes. They're old and tired looking, the exact opposite of Matts youthful face. But there's something about them. Matt's not focusing on Foggy and Foggy could easily dismiss it has him not wanting to make eye contact. But Matt looks too focused and his eyes are so close to looking into his that Foggy lets out a huff of disbelief.

“You're blind.”

Matt let's out a big sigh and his shoulders sag, as if Foggy just relieved him of some sort of burden. He slumps against Foggy, his arms coming up to wrap wound Foggy's neck. Foggy follows suit and wraps his arms around Matt's waist, enjoying the trust closeness and intimacy of the moment.

After a few moments of silence, Foggy whispers, “I was right.”

“About what?” Matt whispers back.

“You do look like a Matt.”

And for the second time, and definitely not the last, Foggy is kissed by the Devil.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed that! I just really like the idea of a deranged Daredevil meeting and falling in love with Foggy. I tried to make Matt pretty creepy and I hope I succeeded in some capacity. 
> 
> Any Walking Dead fans here? That throat part - yeah, one of my fave Rick kills.
> 
> Not beta read.
> 
> http://waynesgrayson.tumblr.com/


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